The Chains That Bind
by kohee
Summary: He tries not to remember any of it. But the times when it did catch up to him, he'd always handle it by himself. Except now. Barba/Benson [warning: panic attacks and mentions of child abuse]
one-shot; prompt: _looks like we'll be trapped for a while…_ _
_pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson  
word count: 1754 words  
prompt from aquabella [tumblr] via alwaysbellamyblake's tumblr fic meme  
note: warnings for descriptions of panic attacks and childhood abuse

 _begin_

They are bickering, as usual.

"You know, Liv, it amazes me that we are having this argument _again_." Barba says exasperatedly as he steps into the elevator.

She follows him into the elevator, her expression just as annoyed as his. "That's because you _never_ want to listen to me."

He gives a short, sarcastic bark of amusement. "I'm sorry? Did you really just say that to me?"

"Look, Barba. The testimony…" She breaks off as the elevator gives a mighty jerk and grinds to a stop. The lights flicker rapidly before shutting off completely, plunging the elevator car into darkness.

"Oh great." She mutters, punching the emergency speaker button, and after a few moments, it crackles to life.

"This is Lieutenant Benson, lift number four-oh-five-seven at precinct one-six. We're stuck in here."

"Okay, Lieutenant Benson. There's been a power outage and we're having a little trouble getting the technicians on-site. Hang in there, someone will be there as soon as possible."

"Copy that." She releases the speaker button and sighs.

"Well, looks like we'll be trapped for a while…"

Barba barely hears her. The minute the elevator stopped and the lights went off, he feels his mouth go dry and his throat closing. Blindly, he backs himself into the corner of the elevator, one hand clutching his briefcase in a death hold, and the other hand gripping onto the wall of the elevator.

"Barba?" He hears Liv's voice, but he's not able to register where it is coming from. He needs to close his eyes, he needs to be able to _breathe_. He immediately starts counting back from a hundred, audibly under his breath. He needs to be able to hear it, to hear his own voice.

At ninety-four, he feels Liv's hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

He flinches, his throat tightening, his breathing becoming erratic, but he continues counting. He feels both her arms tugging him downwards, pulling him down to a seated position. She sits down beside him, facing him and places her hand over his clenched knuckle, the one that is still holding onto his briefcase.

She joins him at seventy-nine, and she's counting with him, her voice low and soothing.

"You need to slow down." She says, and he wants to snap at her, but he couldn't because he has to keep counting. "Breathe in, inhale, take two seconds, breathe out, exhale."

He manages to nod, and breathes in between the numbers, and breathes out, and he feels his throat opening slightly, but he's not _there_ yet, and she doesn't let go of his hand. Her other hand is on his back, patting and rubbing his back reassuringly as he struggles to regulate his breathing.

Eventually he feels the calm returning at thirty-three, just as the emergency lights came on, bathing the elevator car in a weak, blue-tinged light. He blinks, the spots in his vision clearing and she's right there beside him, her head tilted to one side, looking at him with concern.

"I'm okay." He says hoarsely to her unanswered question, barely able to find his voice.. He exhales shakily, feeling the anxiety draining out of his body a little.

They're quiet for a while before she taps his hand gently. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap, but I'll probably live." He says wryly.

"Look, maybe you should…"

Her sentence trails off as the elevator doors gave a mighty creak, as it wrenches open from the other side.

"Hey, you two okay in there? Sorry for the delay, the power outage was causing havoc." A technician peers in, and Liv climbs to her feet.

Barba follows suit, clambering up, but vestiges of his panic attack overwhelms him, and he stumbles as he tries to stand.

Liv immediately grasps his upper arm, steadying him, as he attempts to regain his balance.

"I'm okay." He mutters, detesting his sign of weakness. She doesn't let go of his arm, however, instead she says firmly.

"Let's go to my office. You need to rest."

"I…" He doesn't want to go with her, he already hates that she has seen him the way he was. But he remembers the way she held his hand in that dark, enclosed space; he remembers how he was able to start breathing.

His refusal dies on his lips, and he nods.

* * *

Liv hangs up his suit jacket as he drags himself to the couch in her office and nearly collapses on it. She briefly considers hot tea, but instead settles on pouring him a glass of scotch from the bottle she keeps in her office for him.

Barba is able to breathe fine now, but his heart is racing erratically still and his hands shaky. He accepts the glass of scotch and cradles it, taking a grateful sip, feeling the alcohol working its calming magic.

She sits next to him, twisting her fingers together, hesitant to say anything, but decides to say it anyway. "Barba, are you seeing anyone for your panic attacks?"

He tenses up. "No. I don't need to."

"But…"

"Look, I don't _get_ them very often, okay? And I can deal with it. I've always dealt with it."

She looks at him, wondering if she should push it, and chooses not to.

"It will pass, it always passes. I just need to…" he swallows. "Work through it."

Liv doesn't ask him anymore questions. Instead she tentatively reaches for his hand, picking it up and squeezing his fingers lightly. Her hand is warm and comforting, like it was back in the elevator, and suddenly he finds himself talking.

"My father used to lock me up in the basement when I was a child." Even saying it out loud now, nearly forty years later, he feels himself tensing up, and the counting almost automatically begins again in his head. He stares at his scotch glass, as it all starts to spill out.

"Our basement is this dark, dank and cramped space that is just…" He trails, not wanting to remember the smell, the grime, the roaches and his tears as he curled up in a corner, waiting desperately to be let out. "He'd put me there whenever he feels like it. For losing a race at school, for wanting to read instead of playing football, for accidentally dropping a fucking plate…"

He closes his eyes and tips head back, resting against the back of the couch. "Sometimes, he'd throw me in there just because he was in a bad mood, and because I was just _there_ , and he couldn't stand the sight of me."

Liv's fingers tighten around his hand, as he continues bitterly. "Mamì endured so many beatings because she tried to stop him, and in the end, I had to voluntarily go into the basement so that he wouldn't hit her."

He hasn't talked about this in _years._ He doesn't really allow himself to remember any of this, painstakingly pushing it down (and counting backwards from a hundred) whenever it surfaces. But it never really goes away. It only takes something as _stupid_ as an elevator breaking down to bring all of that rushing back.

When Liv finally speaks, her voice is quiet. "My mother used to tell me she never wanted me. She wished that I didn't exist. That I ruined her life. That I was the source of everything painful in her life."

He looks at her, and she keeps her eyes on his as she continues speaking. "It gets worse when she drinks. She'd hit me. Not on purpose, I understand. She wasn't sober enough to know what she was doing. And when she _was_ sober, she'd cry, and she'd apologise. She'd tell me she never do it again. "

She sighs, biting her lip. "She never managed to keep that promise."

He puts down her glass and places his other hand over hers. He understands perfectly. The feeling of wanting to be loved and to be accepted by the people who are their fathers, and their mothers, and never gaining that.

"Ghosts. We both have them."

"But don't let them haunt you. Don't let them shadow every corner of your life." She says quietly, her voice full of meaning, and he _gets_ it.

He rubs his hand over his face resignedly. "Look, Liv. This whole anxiety thing...it's always been there, okay? And I'm _fine_ with it." Inwardly, he winces at the sharp note in his voice. It signals the opposite of whatever he's saying. But he's tired. He's really tired and his heart is still skipping erratic beats and he really does not want to have this conversation anymore.

He finishes his scotch and stands up, thankful that his legs are holding up. "Thank you for what you did today. I'm grateful, Liv. I truly am. But this has always been something that I handle by myself."

"It doesn't always _have_ to be that way. I..." She pauses, and then forges ahead. "I'm here, you know. I'm always here."

Barba is about to put on his coat when she says that, and he freezes, turning back to stare at her, coat in one hand. Her eyes meet his, her gaze unwavering. She sidles off the couch and walks to him. Gently, she cups his jaw with her hand, her thumb rubbing his cheek.

"Look for me." She says. "When you need to hold on to something, or someone. Just...don't do it by yourself. You don't have to."

He breathes in her nearness, covering her hand with his own, holding hers in place. She feels warm, so warm.

She takes a step nearer, and she only has to tilt her head upwards, just a little bit, and her lips meet his. She tastes the scotch on his lips, and his fear, his uncertainty, and all that he has kept locked away.

He drops his coat on the floor, his arm encircling her back, pulling her against him as he kisses her back. She kisses him like she's trying to reassure him; that she's not going anywhere.

He believes her.

He hates being vulnerable, and he's never been this vulnerable with another person, but this is _Olivia_ , and somehow, she's broken down one of his strongest barriers.

Liv pulls back, and kisses the corner of his mouth, resting her forehead against his. He breathes once, twice, precariously, and then he wraps his arms around her, trapping her within the circle of his arms, hugging her tightly.

Her heart beats strongly against his, and he feels his own heart steadying.

 _end_

Note: This one really got away from me. I had a completely different idea in mind when I received this prompt. Somehow this came out and I think I'm okay with it, so I'm keeping it.

List of prompts available and reblogged at my tumblr /notesfrome. Feel free to request! Ask box is open, as always.


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